Happenstance
by southernbelle08
Summary: COMPLETE! Ginny falls by happenstance upon the fledgling relationship between Remus and Tonks. Resolved to track it to the end, she spies night and day on her admittedly gorgeous ex-professor and records her findings in a non-horcrux diary/sir. R&R!
1. up high

**A/N:** Ahoy, mateys! Don't know why I said that! The inspiration for this fic came from reading other fics in which the young Hogwartsians (lol) were very much aware of the progressing relationship between Tonks and Remus. If _I_ were a young Hogwartsian, and you can thank your lucky stars I'm not, I would be quite intrigued, to say the least. The following is Ginny's non-horcruxical diary (lol again), and I guess it's set during OotP, although timing is irrelevant and won't make a bit of sense. You know how it is.

Now read ye the story, scalawag, or I'll pop off my peg leg and beat you about the head with it!

* * *

10 June

Now look here, Sir,  
I can assure you there's a damn good reason that my feet are currently ten feet above the ground, but we need to set a few things straight before you can be trusted with any explanations.

First off, you most emphatically are _not_ a diary, dear or otherwise, so don't expect to be addressed as one. The last diary I had got me into a hell of a lot of trouble; therefore, you are a sir. A good solid **Sir** ought to prove much less volatile than a sissy, spineless _Diary_. Let's both hope I'm not disappointed.

Secondly, I'd better not catch you starting any funny business with Harry. I've got dibs, and I know hexes so mean they'll strip the hide right off of your cover. Do I make myself clear?

And lastly, no matter how gorgeous Lupin may be, I do NOT in ANY way, shape, OR form have even the TEENIEST shred of a crush on him. Besides, even if I wasn't already a puddle at Harry's feet, it would just be creepy because he's, what, mid-thirties? Not to mention my former teacher. Ick. But oh, is he gorgeous...

Ahem. Anyway. Now that we understand each other, I shall commence with my writing. Oh, and sorry I had to use such a harsh tone with you. I promise I'll be much more polite now that I've established myself as the alpha female in this outfit.

So, you ask, why _is_ there ten feet of nothingness between me and solid ground? It is with regret that I must inform you that I am plunged in the middle of a secret mission gone very much awry. "Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up." (I heart Inigo Montoya.)

You see, Hermione had this grand idea of spying on the Professor (because she, like any other sane woman, agrees that he is drop-dead-gorgeous) and making a few quick sketches of him for our future enjoyment. Hey! We're not stalkers; we just believe it a grave injustice to let true beauty go unappreciated.

So, after stealing to the library half an hour before the Professor's usual time, I, being the one handy with a pencil, was hoisted onto a rafter near the far corner of the room where no one could see me unless they knew exactly where to look. Hermione hid behind a few rows of bookshelves to cover me (though _why_ I need covering, _I _don't know), and we were both in perfect position to watch the Professor read in his favorite armchair by the fireplace.

The problem is, sir, he didn't sit in his favorite armchair today.

He chose the settee directly beneath me.

You see, that's bad. Because all I can see is the top of his head and his shoulders and . . . his lap. And while it may very well be a decidedly _tempting_ thing, I'm not the type of girl that draws people's laps, no matter how gorgeous they happen to be. The people, not the laps. Well, both, I guess. Eek someone shoot me. But I mean there you have it--it's just _there_. And I've been stuck on this abominably uncomfortable rafter for **two hours** now, unable to draw anything, trying not to look down, because let's face it, it really doesn't do to have a fourteen-year-old girl stare at a grown man's lap for any length of time.

Sir, are you as awkward-ed out by me talking about this as I am? I'll try to stay this feisty pencil, but it really can have a mind of its own sometimes.

Oh, what's this? Tonks with teacups? It's a wonder she made it up here without spilling the tea. Ah, I spoke to soon, there it goes, just before she got to where the Professor is sitting. Suddenly I'm dying of thirst. Well look at that: they aren't even bothering to go down and make some more. Sigh. By the way they're talking now it looks like it will be a few hours more before I can get down.

Wouldn't they make an odd couple if they got together?

I don't know what made me say that; it's not like _that_ would ever happen. In a weird way I sort of can see it though. Whatever. I'm just a hopeless romantic, sir, don't listen to me.

Perhaps if I scoot over to that crossbeam I can find a decent enough position to catch a nap in. Yeah, I think that's what I'll do.

Toodle-oo,  
Ginny!

Because my name deserves to be followed by an exclamation point!

* * *

Well, there you have it. It's only been two days since I finished my first longish fic, so we'll see whether that works as a stimulant or a sedative on my updating. Until then, drop me a review!


	2. down low

**A/N:** It's been a while, yeah?

* * *

11 June

1:13am

Now look here, Sir,

That was without doubt _the_ most embarrassing moment of my life, and if I hear even the merest of chuckles from your sordid pages, you're headed straight into the fireplace. Okay?

But the chagrin! The humiliation! The mortification! Oh, I cannot bear to show my face at the breakfast table this morning. The shame is just too much.

You see, what happened was that I, uh . . . well, I fell off the rafter.

(Again I warn you not to laugh, Sir, for you may one day find yourself impaled on the very pen in my hand.)

But it's not _my _fault I fell. I mean _logically_, if my body knew full well that it was ten feet from the floor, it would think twice before it rolled around while I slept. Idiot body! I shall saw you from my head so that you cannot contaminate my brain with your idiocy. Then you'll be sorry!

The worst part of it is that I fell _directly_ in front of the Professor. Like on his shoes. Well, now that I think about it, I don't think he had on shoes, because that would have _really_ hurt my back to fall on. But anyway, I must have scared Tonks pretty bad because she literally fell over backwards in her chair (you never ask "how" with Tonks), and I was just sitting there looking up at the Professor in all his gorgeousness and I didn't know what to do and I was still lying on his feet and _it was so embarrassing!_

I'm convulsing like a drowning madwoman as I relive it.

So anyway, after about ten seconds of immobile humiliation, I jumped up, told them I was okay (I mean, I did fall off a friggin rafter), and scooted on out of the library with all deliberate speed.

Now I'm here in the bedroom and it's 1:17. Hermione still isn't back. That must mean Lupin and Tonks are still in the library and she can't get out. Geez they've been in there since 7:30. Almost 4 hours is a long time.

Too long.

Maybe there _is_ something going on here, after all. Maybe they don't even realize it yet. Wouldn't that be squee-fodder! (For future reference, I'm a hopeless romantic who will squee at the slightest provocation.) I'll have to keep careful tabs on them for a while. What a great idea! I get to stealthily follow the Professor around all day!

I swear I'm not a stalker.

I'll start tomorrow at breakfast. Merlin, that'll be excruciatingly awkward, going to breakfast. I guess I'll just have to be all nonchalant about it all, even though there's no way you can really be nonchalant about falling out of the ceiling into what may or may not have been a romantic conversation. Probably not romantic yet. I think I, Ginny Weasley, lover of Harry Potter, dater of every other Gryffindor male worth looking at, would be able to tell if any romanza were burgeoning in a tete-a-tete that occurred literally under my nose.

Well I am knackered. I guess there's not any real reason to wait up for Hermione. I wouldn't be surprised if she fell asleep herself. Maybe I'll catch a few hours' sleep before the most awkward meal I've yet to tuck into. Wonder what'll be more toe-curlingly embarrassing: the fall or the aftermath?

Until then,

GINNY!

Because my name deserves not only an exclamation point!, but also CAPITAL LETTERS.

* * *

**A/N: **Short, I know, but we'll see what happens. And sorry it took so long to update. I was all the way over in San Francisco, in which I shivered and berated myself for not bringing nine more jackets. It made me long for the 96 degrees plus 94 percent humidity I enjoyed as I lifeguarded for four hours yesterday. Sort of.

Attend my mandatum, minion: review! lol


	3. bacon

**A/N: **What is this? A quick update? I'm speechless, too!

* * *

Date: 11 June  
Time: 7:27 am  
Location: breakfast table  
Status: fidgety

Now look here, Sir,

Do you like my new and improved, super-informative header? Nod your head . . . atta boy! Have a cookie.

So I got down here early so that it would be the Professor making an awkward entrance rather than myself. Mum keeps sending all these little approving looks in my direction because I told her that this was my Transfiguration notebook and that I'm getting a head start on summer homework.

Incidentally, I'm returning the approving looks because she's frying up some bacon right now. Bacon bacon bacon bacon bacon ... IT'S BACON! (Like the dog in the Beggin Strips commercial, you know?) Oh, how I entertain me.

Anyhoo, it's now 7:29. (It takes a long time to write when you're distracted by the smell of bacon.) The Professor in all his gorgeousness comes down for breakfast at precisely 7:30 every morning for breakfast. Why? I don't know. Just as you never ask "how?" with Tonks, you never ask "why?" with the Professor.

Eek I'm scared. I'm thoroughly convinced that this will be embarrassment so exquisitely excruciating that my skin will spontaneously flay itself as an outward manifestation of the shredding my soul now suffers.

Sorry. Mornings make me violent. GAH! FOOTSTEPS ON THE STAIRS!

Okay so that wasn't _too_ bad. The Professor just wished us each good morning and sat down to read the _Prophet_. He hasn't even made any covert allusions to my apparent roosting tendencies while he chats with mum. But at the same time, it's not like he didn't give me a weird look. In fact, right now I happen to be detecting a certain sidelong glance searing into my skull.

Oh the humanity!

I just risked a peek at him, and amidst the gorgeousness of his face (twice as gorgeous in its early-morning scruffiness) I definitely saw the corners of his mouth twitching. He's about to burst into laughter. It's not funny! Ugh, I wish I could sink into the floor. Or learn to Disapparate. Preferably the latter. That would be cool.

GAH! Mum just asked the Professor what kind of coffee he wanted, and I _definitely_ heard him say 'dark ROOST' instead of dark ROAST. I can't take this anymore! He's secretly laughing his head off and I'm left here squirming. He's lucky he's the paradigm of beauty, otherwise I'd hex him so thoroughly that he'd never look in a mirror again. Hmph.

Hey I have an idea! Maybe I could _pretend_ to laugh it off, instead of sitting here with my face burning with the perpetual fires of humiliation. Yeah!

Okay so that wasn't your standard chuckle. That was a maniacal cackle. HOW did that come out as a maniacal cackle?! And considering that zero conversation transpired prior to my outburst, it probably appears that I'm getting a kick out of my Transfiguration homework or something. Damn it.

Freak nanny! I just heard Tonks trip down the stairs. She'll be in here in a second, and she probably won't be half as controlled as the Professor.

Yup, the giggling has begun. No cheeky remarks, just the usual 'wotcher,' but she's still giggling.

Holy crap! That is a tiny shirt! I don't think that shirt would fit me even in infancy. Mum would probably knock me into the fourth dimension or something if I wore a shirt like that. Dad would spontaneously combust, simply be shocked out of existence. Bill would tear out his goatee, and Charlie . . . Charlie would personally gouge out the eyes of every male within a ten mile radius.

That being said, I gotta admit—somehow she manages to pull it off. Probably why Mum doesn't have a word with her about it. Damn. Like I said, never ask "how?" with Tonks.

Geez! How is the Professor still reading the newspaper?! Why are his eyes not glued to her?! Yet if mine eyes deceiveth me not, he does look a little pale. Perhaps he can't trust himself to look up. Wouldn't that be romantic? Squee! Maybe he's just waiting until she

OHMYGOSH THE PROFESSOR IS SO TOTALLY JUST CHECKING HER OUT! I saw it with my own eyes, I tell you! I saw it! She didn't, because she was busy getting butter out of the fridge, but I SAW IT! He was waiting until she turned her back! I _knew_ there was something going on!

There's no need to tell me I'm a genius, Sir. I'm perfectly aware of that.

Ooooh this is exciting! I'm really going to have to track them now. How I'm going to do it without being noticed, I have no idea, but it'll happen. Where there's a will, there's a way, I always say. I can tell right now this is going to be like Harriet the Spy on crack.

Actually I don't really remember what happened in Harriet the Spy. Wait, didn't she get caught or something? Wutevz—you get the idea: I'm going to spy obsessive compulsively.

Or maybe this will be like Emma (Ginny hearts Jane Austen!!) and I'll set them up, but very secretly so they don't notice! Yeah and then if it's _really_ like Emma, Harry will eventually profess his undying love for me and we'll live happily ever after!

Oh, my plans are genius. Bring me the finest muffins and bagels in all the land, Sir. I drink from the keg of glory!

I interrupt this broadcast to announce that a plate of bacon has just been placed before me. We will return to normal programming shortly.

Otay. Now that my ravenous beast of belly (funny mental image) has been appeased with offerings of gloriously greasy bacon and a scrambled egg, I find myself here in the kitchen with Mum and the Professor and Sirius. Tonks already left for work, and in the interval in which the gorging transpired, I believe that Hermione and the twins already came and went, but these things are difficult to remember. When it comes to food, I have a one-track mind. Sigh.

Mum's finished cleaning up in here and is gone in search of something else to tidy. Typical. Ruh roh. That means it's just me and . . . .

Fudge nuggets! Sirius just said he heard I had a late night last night. How am I going to talk myself out of this one?! Gotta put you away, Sir. I'll fill you in later.

Until later,

ginny

Because I've dug myself into such a hole that my name deserves no capital letters whatsoever. :(

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**A/N:** Reviewers get virtual bacon.


	4. licking wounds

**A/N:** Well y'all I honestly thought this story died. But I guess, like three-fourths of the characters in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, it's not dead yet. We'll see if it survives to the end.

* * *

**Date**: 11 June  
**Time**: 4:19 pm  
**Location**: second-mildewiest armchair in living room  
**Status**: victimized

Now look here, Sir,

I have been violated. Exploited. Dehumanized.

_Everyone_ knows that it's socially unacceptable to interrogate children until they squirm and turn as red as their hair (that is, if their hair is a freakish, eye-watering red) and develop a nervous tic, _especially_ if the squirm-coercion is solely for the amusement of the interrogator and his scandalously gorgeous friend.

Cruelty, thy name is Sirius.

Here's the gist of the conversation:

**Sirius:** (_conversationally_) So, Ginny . . . I heard you had a late night last night.

**Me: **(_foolishly long pause_) Did you?

**Sirius:** (_trying to be punny_) Heard you _dropped by_ to tell old Moony 'hello' at a rather unconventional time.

**Me:** (_trying to play it cool, TALKING ABOUT THE PUN_) Cute.

**Sirius:** Tonksie thinks he is, too.

**Me:** What?

**Lupin:** What?

**Sirius:** What?

**Me:** (_flummoxed_) _What?_

**Sirius:** (_acting all gangsta_) Wut wut! (_normally_) So what were you doing in the ceiling? (_hopefully_) Anything illegal?

**Me: **(_still attempting to be smooth_) If sleeping is illegal . . . .

**Sirius:** Sleeping in the ceiling . . . .

**Me:** (_after realizing how stupid that sounds, and trying to redeem myself_) I'm an insomniac.

**Sirius:** (_having fun now_) So you slept in the ceiling.

**Me:** It worked didn't it?

**Sirius:** I think I'd try the sofa before a rafter in the ceiling.

**Me:** (_clutching at straws_) The sofa's mildewy.

**Sirius:** (_sounding convinced_) Oh.

**Me:** (_triumphant_) See there!?

**Sirius:** Yes, you've got a point. I'd rather sleep on a cold, hard, dusty piece of timber ten feet from the ground than a slightly musty sofa any day of the week.

**Me:** Um . . . yeah. My point exactly.

(Pause, in which I mentally scramble for a discreet way to exit the kitchen, and Lupin continues to read the paper, and Sirius crams an entire muffin into his mouth.)

**Sirius:** (_with no warning_) So what were you watching for?

**Me:** Watching . . . ?

**Sirius:** Shameless flirtation? Passionate snogging? Hot sex?

**Me: **(_shocked, frightened, and about to burst into an unseemly fit of giggles_) What are you _talking_ about?

**Lupin:** (_warning_) Sirius.

**Me:** (_for one glorious moment forgetting my embarrassment and looking Lupin in the eye for the first time this morning because this discussion is getting just that interesting_) What _is_ he talking about?

**Lupin:** Who knows? Though it's not yet eight in the morning, I do believe he's drunk.

**Sirius: **(_dismissively_) Nah, I'm not drunk. You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on. And I'm not even on the floor yet!

**All:** (_forced chuckle at asinine joke, followed by silence_)

**Me:** (_beginning to squirm again, realizing that Sirius is enjoying himself heartily as squirm-orchestrator and that Lupin is struggling not to laugh at said squirming in spite of himself_) I think Mum's calling me. (_exit:_ **Me**_, stage right_)

So that was more like a moment-by-moment retelling of the conversation, rather than the gist. Though I am glad I decided to write it all out; otherwise, I would have forgotten the precious tidbit that was ousted from my mind by the squirming: Lupin was definitely deadly serious when he warned Sirius to shut up.

_That_, Sir, tells me everything I need to know.

Well. Not _everything_. Not much of anything, really. I mean it just tells me that _something_ is going on, but now what. What precisely _is_ going on, besides something strange and wonderful?

Okay, so except for the last three paragraphs, in which my feeling of victimization was slightly ameliorated by possible triumph, I am no better off than I was before. All I know now is that this isn't all in my head. While that's comforting, it's not much to go from. I need to find a new place to spy from, and the library is out of the picture. Curse my sleep motility!

Snap! The maternal unit approaches, laden with enough cleaning products to arm the entire household. I fear I'm about to be drafted.

Should I escape the nefarious dust bunnies unscathed, I remain

Most faithfully yours,  
GiNnY

BecAuSE i'M fEElinG gOoFy.

* * *

**A/N:** I likes reviews. Hint hint.


	5. objet d'art

**A/N:** Sorry for a ridiculously long wait for an update. I seem to update every time there's an important paper to write. Right now I'm supposed to be writing college essays. Ugh. Hope you like it. Review, s'il vous plait!

* * *

Date: 11 June  
Time: 21:52 (military time is the bomb digs)  
Location: a large decorative urn in the corner of the living room  
Status: increasingly claustrophobic

Now look here, sir,

I know what you're thinking. A large urn is a highly unusual hiding spot. (Incidentally, _I_ prefer 'avant-garde' to 'unusual,' but that's a matter of taste.) I figure if Lemony Snicket can successfully disguise himself as a chest-of-drawers, then I can successfully conceal myself in a large urn. Don't even try to argue, sir; my logic is unassailable.

I know you want to ask how I got in here, but all I can say is that some things are better left unasked. _Why_ I'm in here a whole nother ballgame. Nother. Nother. I don't think 'nother' is a word. But it's obviously not 'a whole _other_ ball game.' Nother? Oh well. Hermione's not here to scold me for my unproper english, so I'll just leave it.

But I was talking about _why_ I'm here! Hark my giggle of triumph! I overheard the Professor after supper tell Sirius that they needed to talk once everyone had gone to bed. You think it's a coincidence that Tonks is at her place tonight and Sirius was all crazy-crazy at breakfast this morning? METHINKS NOT! So when I saw Sirius building up fire in the living room a little while later, I figured that's where they would be. Eek someone's coming!

Okay the armchair is now creaking, so it's probably Le Prof who came in. He always sits there. Eek the other one just walked in! And I just heard the unmistakable groan of the sofa, so that's gotta Sirius. (It's creepy how every article of furniture in this room has a distinctive voice that protests when you sit on it. It's like the house is alive and is angry that you're in it. Shiver.)

**Sirius:** So Moony.  
**Lupin:** So Padfoot.  
**Sirius:** What was it you wanted to talk to me about? (Pause, presumably during which Lupin rolls his eyes.) You mean breakfast this morning? Aw Moony—  
**Lupin:** Did I not ask you to stay out of it?

So there _is_ something going on and they both know it! Squee!

**Sirius:** Yeah, but—  
**Lupin:** And with Ginny right there—  
**Sirius:** _Because_ Ginny was right there. Don't take yourself so seriously; it was just for fun.  
**Lupin:** How is that fun?  
**Sirius:** One, there's nothing a teenage girl likes more than drama. Two, she fancies you big time.

Am I that transparent?

**Lupin:** That's . . . beside the point.

Haha.

**Lupin:** The point is, I asked you to stay out of it, and you're not.  
**Sirius:** Because I'm morally obligated to stay in it.  
**Lupin:** You're morally obligated to go along with a friend's wishes.  
**Sirius:** Not if they're self-destructive.  
**Lupin:** What—self-destructive?!  
**Sirius:** I didn't stutter.

Stichomythia!

**Lupin:** I don't . . . This is beyond illogic.

Illogic is a word?

**Sirius:** No, _this_ is beyond illogic: You like her, she likes you, you _should_ be together, and yet you're not.

Way to tell it like it is, Sirius!

**Lupin: **I told you to stay out—  
**Sirius:** I will _not_ stay out of it! Apparently, you need _someone_ to help move things along.  
**Lupin:** I don't want things to move along.

What?

**Sirius:** (after pause) What?  
**Lupin:** (eerily deliberate) I don't want things to move along. So stay out of it.

What is he talking about?

**Sirius:** (after longer pause) Oh. I see what's going on now.  
**Lupin:** Good. So stay—  
**Sirius:** You find the only woman in the world who doesn't give a damn about all the stuff you've got going against you, one that happens to be young and beautiful, one who actually likes you, and you try to push her away. And fail, I might add, because you can't help but talk to her.

Normally, I'd squee, but this is getting serious.

**Lupin:** Padfoot—  
**Sirius:** What is this, Moony?  
**Lupin:** Padfoot—  
**Sirius:** What would Prongs say?  
**Lupin:** Padfoot.  
**Sirius:** You know what I think? I think you're scared. I think you're scared she's going to make you let down your guard, and you're scared to. You're scared to give anything a chance to happen.  
**Lupin: **You calling me a coward?

Oh dear.

**Lupin:** Are you calling me a coward?  
**Sirius:** You said it; I didn't.

Oh my gosh! I think they're fighting! Like with fists!

Gah! They really are! This is terrifying! I really want to look and see, but holy crap if they saw me . . . ! That makes me quiver just thinking about it.

Squeak! What do I do?! Okay, I think they quit. Yeah they quit. That was . . . quick.

Now what?

**Lupin:** Hoo boy, you're going to have a shiner in the morning.  
**Sirius:** Yeah, you got me good. Your lip's probably going to be about the size of my thumb.  
**Lupin:** (laughing! wtf!) The last time I punched you was the day before graduation. I don't even remember what for, though.  
**Sirius:** (laughing too) Probably something to do with Susan Heyward.  
**Lupin: **(groaning) Don't remind me . . .

What is it with boys? How do they just fight and that's the end of it? So barbaric! And it's not like they resolved anything. Anything! Is Lupin going to change his attitude? Is Sirius going to play the matchmaker? We don't know! Grr! I guess that means I'll have to watch carefully for when they revisit this subject. Because they'll have to. Stupid boys and fighting. So inefficient. Sigh.

Now they're just reminiscing about Hogwarts. While that's fun to listen to and all, I'm kinda tired of sitting in this stupid urn. If they say anything worth mentioning, I'll write it down, but right now my hand is killing me from all that transcription and I just want to go to sleep. At least I'm not in danger of falling into sight if I take a nap.

Le sigh.

Until tomorrow,

|gny|

Because I'm huddled in a very small, uncomfortable space right now.

* * *

**A/N: **you like?


	6. tina

**A/N:** Wow, y'all. I'm really sorry this took so ridiculously long to update. Peas forgive? And review? How about a couplet!

_O he who would this winding tale peruse,  
Review or rend the author sore ill-used._

Date: 12 June  
Time: 14:15  
Location: um…under the Professor's bed? I'll explain, I swear!  
Status: sneaky--and squished, as usual

Now look here, Sir,

I've got some _great_ news! I know you probably want to know immediately why I'm under the Professor's bed, but there's plenty of time to get to that later—listen to my _great_ news instead! Sirius and I are officially in cahoots. Crazy, right? We figured since we have basically the same objective—to get the Professor and Tonks together like they most obviously SHOULD be—we'd form a coalition. Hermione's in on it, too. Here's how it happened:

As uncomfortable and claustrophobic as I was in that decorative urn last night, I inevitably fell asleep in it. (You'll notice that there's not much I can't sleep through, in, on, under, against, or with. Kidding on that last one. Not kidding on the rest.)

So anyway, I fall asleep, and the next thing I know, I'm no longer in the urn. I'm upside down, my head is in a trash can, and Sirius is shrieking like a little girl.

Once I had gotten somewhat un-discombobulated and Sirius had calmed himself to near-coherence, I gathered that mother dearest had organized a second assault on the guerilla dust bunnies that hold this house in disarray, and she had dispatched Sirius to wrest the living room from their control. It was during this mission that he spied the ugly decorative urn in the corner, and he proceeded to pick it up and dump its contents into the trash can. Out I came, and he just about had a heart attack.

After the story came out, he asked me how long I had been in there. Naturally, my traitorous visage turned scorching red, and he realized I'd heard the whole ordeal last night. (And by the way, he _did_ have a shiner. It was an exquisite purply-black.)

To make a long story short, I spilled the beans on everything I knew, we struck a deal, I suggested we bring in Hermione, and we called an official meeting in the farthest corner of the library later that morning. Basically, Hermione's going to wheedle her way into Tonks's confidence, Sirius is going to do whatever he does with the Professor (and I mean that in a non-illicit way), and I'm sort of the Central Intelligence Agency of the outfit.

Which brings me at last to why I am currently in the second-sketchiest place a girl of fourteen could be in this house—under the Professor's bed. Obviously, the number one sketchiest place would be on top of it, but we won't go there, figuratively or literally. That was inappropriate and not funny at all. Sorry. Anyway, Sirius swears that the Professor is a notorious self-talker when he's in private. (Isn't it weird, sir, that he only talks to himself in _private_? Why not hold conversations with yourself _all_ the time, like me and the rest of the sane world?) So yeah. That's my mission: record what he whispers in the secret loneliness of the night, all for the benefit of himself, his beloved, and all of us who have nothing better to do than obsessively monitor his love life.

Haha, not so dramatic as that. More like what might slip out in a careless mutter when he returns from running errands. But still, it's pretty dramatic—I'm in dangerous territory, seeking out the deepest of the darkest secrets.

And to impress upon you just how dangerous this territory is, I'll say this: it's _almost_ as dangerous as it is cramped. I'm laying flat on my belly under this little bed, all squished up against the wall with you, sir, next to me. There's hardly enough room for my pencil down here.

* * *

Time: 14:32

Gurg. What is taking this man so long?! He's supposed to be just nipping out to get carrots for Mum's soup tonight. I've never known vegetable retrieval to be such a long, drawn out process. This is simply

**Nannies!!** Freak nannies! What do I do??!! I just heard Sirius give me the secret signal for an emergency evacuation, but the Professor walked in just as he did it! What does that mean? What do I do? Am I about to get busted?? FUDGE NUGGETS I'M SCREWED.

Okay there doesn't seem to be any immediate danger. I can still hear Sirius signaling me to evacuate, though. (It's the ekki-ekki-ekki thing that the Knights Who Until Recently Said Ni say.) I don't know what to make of it. But what can I do?

Oh, boy! I just heard the Professor Muffliato the door. Maybe he's about to burst forth in rapturous verse about yon fair maiden, Tonks. If he were smart he'd Imperturb the door, too, if he's learned _anything_ from my antics. (And what clever antics they are, if I do say so myself.) Oh, and there you go—he just Imperturbed it. He _is_ smart. That's sexy.

Ahem. So when will this rapturous verse commence? I'm really looking forward to

GAH! My ears! _My ears!_ I can't believe this! Seriously??!! He's singing Tina Turner. I repeat, he's singing Tina Turner. Professor Remus J. Lupin is singing Tina Turner at the top of his voice with the worst falsetto I've ever heard in the entire span of my existence. This is bad. This is very, very bad. Tina Turner? Really?

I did _not_ sign up for this torture. I mean his voice is bad enough as it is, but he's singing a flipping Tina Turner song, for crying out loud! (Shut up, sir. I'm perfectly entitled to my opinion that Tina Turner is the ruination of the music industry, even if I and an obscure fanfiction writer who lives across the pond are the only ones in the world who think so.) This is an outrage. This is just an outrage. I did not stuff myself under this bed to hear a grown man for whom I once had respect sing his lungs out to "What's Love Got to Do with It?"

**GASP.** I JUST MADE THE CONNECTION! "What's love got do do with it? / What's love but a second-hand emotion? / What's love got to do with it? / Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken?" He _IS_ bursting forth in rapturous verse, after all! Well, that's exciting. It's also rather yucky when you consider how lusty this song is. I mean this is our reserved, rigorously moral professor we're talking about. But all the same, it's nice to have confirmation.

Ugggg I wish he'd quit singing.

You know what's annoying, besides this god-awful song? And his falsetto? I still haven't _really_ learned anything new from this foray into his lair. Basically, if this song is anything to go by, he's attracted to her, he loves her, he wishes he didn't, and he's not going to do anything about it. Didn't we pretty much already know that? How am I supposed to get some real, decent, new intelligence? I need to brainstorm. When is a time that he's likely to say something worth hearing?

And dammit, when is he going to shut the hell up??!!!!

Oh GREAT. He's jumping on the bed now. I am in real physical danger now. The bed dips down when he jumps, and if he lands anywhere near my head, we're talking about a crushed skull. Groovy, sir. Just groovy. How does it feel to be with me in what may be my final moments here on this earth? It is an honor to have known you, sir.

Nah, just kidding. My head's near enough to the bedpost that it's not an any danger. The rest of me, however, is

**OI MY BACK**

…

Oh, no.

Oh no.  
Oh no.  
Oh no.

I think he heard me. I definitely yelled when he stomped on my back and I think he heard

* * *

**A/N: **Cliffie! Now review! And sorry for all you Tina Turner fans out there, die-hard and otherwise. I honestly just can't stand her. Hope you aren't offended. Oh, and if you are offended, be sure to write a review telling me just how wroth you are. I'll be happy to receive it! :)

* * *


	7. home base

**A/N:** Hey, guess what! I'm actually still alive! Review, or I'll throw bad poetry at you.

Review the stories that you read,  
Or to the lions you I'll feed.  
I'll throw you in their crunching jowls  
Of teeth as long as garden trowels.  
But if my story's just so lame  
That to review will cause you pain,  
At least assist me with my verse  
Cuz right now it just sucks. :(

* * *

**Date**: 12 June  
**Time**: 21:27  
**Location**: my bed  
**Status**: self-congratulatory, yet suspicious

Now look here, Sir,

So you know how some people get jealous of other people who are really smart and brilliant and genius and stuff? Well sometimes I'm so smart and brilliant and genius and stuff that I make myself jealous. It's a perplexing conundrum, how a person can envy herself, but it happens nonetheless.

Perhaps you wonder what warrants this effusion of unabashed conceit. Attend, sir, and be awed by my greatness:

So there I was, wedged under the bed, my spine just about snapped in two, utterly trapped as the Professor crouched down on the floor to find an intruder in his room. In retrospect, it was funny because we were just staring at each other in shock. But then after a minute he blushed painfully when he realized that I must have heard him singing Tina Turner. (I would be ashamed of singing Tina Turner, too.) So while the Professor is crouching there, gawking in disbelief and perplexity and consummate bamboozlement (an understandable reaction), my cogs and gears are cranking up to full speed, and within seconds, I have hatched the plan to end all plans, which will exonerate me from all crimes I may or may not have committed by breaking and entering the Professor's room, and which will leave both our dignities fully intact. The full measure of my brilliance was encapsulated in a single word, an utterance bringing joy to the masses and sweet, sweet freedom to yours truly:

"Candy," I announced with perfect aplomb.

It took a few seconds for him to respond. "What?"

"Candy," I repeated, this time putting a little vacancy in my mien (fancy pantsy word). "You has?"

You see, sir, my plan was to act like I'd been hit by some sort of Confundus charm. More precisely, my story was that I'd accidentally eaten one of the twins' Confundus Confections. Actually, there's no such thing as a Confundus Confection yet. I plan on selling the product name to Fred and George because it's a pretty gosh darn clever idea, if I do say so myself.

So the Professor asks if I'm all right and stuff, and I just keep saying stupid things like "I can has your sugars?" and "I'm in your floorboards, eating your candies," and he's totally convinced. I tell you what, sir, if they don't make me a Rhodes Scholar for being so flipping smart, they'd better at least give me an Oscar for Best Actress. I'd like to thank ICanHasCheezburger for their awesome inspiration, and my family for all their support, and . . . kidding.

But anyway, basically the Professor suspected that somebody had tampered with my mind (and you can't blame him for being concerned about someone vandalizing the beauty that is my intellect), so he dragged me out from under the bed and gradually deduced through my spot-on performance that I had mistakenly consumed a Weasley Wizarding Wheezes prototype.

And now, sir, comes my coup-de-grace, the true mark of my brilliance: I convince him that my instability is severe enough to warrant a healthy dose of—are you ready?—_chocolate from his secret horde_.

FER REALZ.

Sir, do you not understand how AMAZING this is?? Do you not know the Professor??? His secret horde is like the holy of holies in the world of chocolate connoisseurs. Nobody but the Professor himself can stand in the presence of such chocolaty goodness. Yet I, I the meager and unworthy Ginny Weasley, was allowed to behold the almighty chocolatiness. There I was playing stupid, babbling on about a lost bucket, completely unaware of the coming vision—when the Professor suddenly turns to open the unassuming wardrobe that holds the resplendent font of all chocolate! And hark, I heard a multitude of the heavenly host burst forth in exultation when the blessed trove was revealed. And then the Professor, the dispenser of joy, bestowed upon me a generous slab of happiness in its solid form, and I partook of

Okay, all this celestial language is getting old. To make a long story short, I ate chocolate. And it was good. And that's why I'm smart, because I can get folks to fork over the good stuff.

So once I had consumed so much chocolate that I was practically cataleptic from the satiety, I was shunted from the room, and from there I staggered to my own bedroom to fall upon the bed in crapulent sleep. (Look that word up.) When I came to, I assembled my cohorts in the library so that we could discuss developments.

Hermione reported that she and Tonks had had a good bonding conversation over a cup of tea, but on moral grounds she declined to specify the nature of the conversation. Sirius reported that he had been formulating plans to "sway" the Professor later that night.

There were three things about Sirius at that meeting that bothered me. 1) He didn't give us any specifics on his plan, though he had no legitimate reason not to do so. Did "swaying the Professor" mean talking him into doing something? Forcibly change his opinion with idiotic manly brawling like I had to witness last night? Get him drunk and make him _literally_ sway, and then do something stupid? Why wouldn't he tell us??! 2) He admitted that he sounded the emergency evacuation signal while I was trapped under the bed as a joke. Cruel! 3) When I reported that the Professor sang "What's Love Got to Do with It?" Sirius gasped, but not in horror that the Professor was signing that woman's awful music or in laughter that he had a bad falsetto; rather, he seemed to be making a connection with some past event that me and Hermione don't know about. When I pressed him to explain, he denied that the song meant anything to him.

Basically, I'm not sure I trust Sirius. It feels like he's withholding too much from us. Is he just messing around with me and Hermione? Is he using us as pawns for his own purposes?

Could he be a double-agent?

I'll have to investigate this further, sir. The plot thickens hourly.

Until later,  
Ginny Ginny

Because I'm splitting up to run two investigations.

* * *

**A/N: **Okie dokie, now. If you don't feel like reviewing the story, I'd like to refer you back to the verse at the top of the page, reminding you that you can at LEAST help me write my next poem. Or do both. That's always kewl. :)


	8. nesting

**A/N:** Sorry I haven't updated in fereverz. Blame Calculus BC. Blame it for everything that has ever gone wrong in the world.

My poetry is pretty bad,  
My calculus is worse.  
I don't know what my story is—  
a blessing or a curse.  
Review and let me know; I need  
your feedback, long or terse.

* * *

Contributions from THE LOVELY AMAZING PEOPLE WHO LISTEN TO ME FOR SOME REASON!

I liked the chapter a whole lot  
Funny as usual, dot, dot, dot  
And since you asked, I'll review this one time  
If only to escape your awful rhyme!  
_**LadyVisionary**_

On the bottom of this page  
There's a pretty button  
And if you will click it  
I will have won  
You will make me happy  
And I'll think you're kind  
I won't be so sad  
Or blow out my mind.  
_**amaXdear**_ (to the tune of 'On Top of Old Smokey')

* * *

**Date**: 13 June  
**Time**: 10:11  
**Location**: in the cabinet under the sink in the bathroom  
**Status**: seriously disturbed

Now look here, Sir,

I am speechless. I am without words.

I don't know if I should be exuberantly happy or seriously, seriously scared.

Here's how it is: I've been hiding in this bathroom cabinet for the last two hours to avoid my dear mother, who is on yet another cleaning crusade, exploiting her own children as day laborers. She actually gave me the idea of hiding under the sink because she's been complaining lately about how much time she spends around sinks and how much she's come to detest them. But I've got it nice and comfy down here with all sorts of blankets and pillows. And no, I have not acquired Kreacher's nesting habits. Yikes.

So anyway this is where things get freaky. Tonks skips in around 10:00 to brush her teeth and put on make-up and stuff (she sleeps in on Sundays). Normal, right? WRONG. Because two minutes later there's this huge crash and Tonks is screaming and the bathroom door slams, and I have absolutely no idea what the heck is going on.

In the last few minutes' confusion, I have gathered that Sirius evidently picked up the Professor and heaved him bodily into the bathroom, and then he locked us all in here together. DOUBLE-YOU TEE EFF?!?!?! So apparently the Professor just flew through the air and crashed into the wall opposite the threshold. Take a minute, sir, and try to picture the Professor in all his professorish glory sailing across the bathroom with no warning whatsoever. It's too bizarre for me to handle!!

Judging from what I hear Tonks and the Professor saying, he isn't hurt but he's really confused. And now, sir, you can see why I don't know if I should be exuberantly happy or seriously, seriously scared.

_Exuberantly happy_: the two people I'm stalking, I mean (ahem), _observing_, who happen to really like each other, are now locked in the same room, and the only rational one has recently sustained minor dain bramage.

_Seriously, seriously scared_: I have no idea _what_ is going to happen next, I don't know why/if the Professor allowed Sirius to pick him up at all, I don't know why Sirius thought it acceptable to hurl a human being like a shot-put, and it just occurred to me that I don't have a food source if this turns into a long, drawn-out affair. Curses.

Okay so here's what's happening now. Tonks has just established that she's tried every spell she knows to unlock the door but to no avail. Lupin informed her that locking spell Sirius used is homemade and that only Sirius knows its reverse. Tonks is now cussing profusely. The Professor is complaining about his head and is now mumbling about chickens. Tonks snaps at him to shut up. Lupin replies that he will not shut up "because the angels are taking away the microwave in pieces."

Direct quote.

Oh dear.

This is utterly absurd. Ludicrous. Surreal. I would never even dream this. What is going on?! And what is the matter with Sirius, for crying out loud?

Conveniently, they're now talking about him. I'll try to transcribe. Or summarize. Or something.

**Tonks:** (somewhat hysterically) Are you sane yet? I am NOT happy with this situation!  
**Lupin:** (mildly) I pride myself on my sanity, thank you, and I'm not exactly thrilled, myself..  
**Tonks:** Well do you mind telling me why your alleged "friend" just threw you at a wall?  
**Lupin:** Does Padfoot ever have a reason for doing anything?  
**Tonks:** (suspiciously) Actually, I thought he seemed to be very purposeful about the whole thing.  
**Lupin:** Nymphadora, I can't do the secretive thing right now. My head hurts.  
**Tonks:** Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus.  
**Lupin:** I'll call you whatever I want. My head hurts.  
**Tonks:** Jerkface.  
**Lupin:** Bodaggit.  
**Tonks:** You don't even know what a bodaggit is, Professor.

Tonks just called him Professor. That's hot.

**Lupin:** Excuse me, I taught teenage boys. And strange as it may seem, once upon a time in a land far, far away, I _was_ a teenage boy.  
**Tonks:** Touché.

This seems to be a sort of love-hate relationship.

**Lupin:** My head hurts.  
**Tonks:** Arg! You distracted me! I was saying that I really think Sirius was up to something other than his usual mischievousness!  
**Lupin:** Mischief.  
**Tonks:** Whatever. But do you know what I mean?  
**Lupin:** (le sigh) Yeah I guess, Nymphadora, but I really don't care right now. Find me some aspirin and then I might humor you.  
**Tonks:** (accusingly) I think you're bluffing.  
**Lupin:** (wearily) What?  
**Tonks:** (triumphantly) I think you're bluffing! You arranged this whole thing! You got Sirius to throw you in here!  
**Lupin:** Nymphadora, why would I even want to—  
**Tonks:** I'll bet you didn't even hit your head!

A pause, presumably during which Tonks cracks the Professor on the head to test her hypothesis, followed by a roar.

**Lupin: **AAGH! What the hell was that for!?  
**Tonks:** (unfazed) Okay, so maybe you did hit your head, but I still think you planned this whole thing.  
**Lupin:** I've never hit a girl before, but I swear I won't hesitate if you touch my head again.  
**Tonks:** That's sexist.  
**Lupin:** 'That's _sexy_?' What are you, a sadomasochist?  
**Tonks:** I said 'sexist,' not 'sexy,' you Froot Loop (TM).

Look at me and my trademarking skillz!

**Lupin: **Whatever. Respecting women is not sexist.

He's so sweet!

**Lupin:** Now would you mind leaving me alone for a while so I can nurse my wounds? I am _really_ not in the mood for this nonsense at the moment.  
**Tonks:** Remus, I really don't care. I want to get to the bottom of all this right now.

Amen to that!

**Tonks:** Everybody's acting crazy lately. Sirius has been in this suspiciously good mood for the last week or so, Hermione suddenly wants to be my best friend ever, Molly's been all up in my grille lately, and on top of everything else, we have a little red-headed so-and-so popping up at the most inconvenient times.

What did she just call me? And what was that about my mother?

**Lupin:** Well when you put it like that…  
**Tonks:** My point exactly.  
**Lupin:** You said Molly was talking to you?  
**Tonks:** Yeah, has she been talking to you, too?  
**Lupin:** (mayhaps a bit defensively?) I didn't say that. I was just thinking.  
**Tonks:** (apparently catching the defensiveness) She has been talking to you!  
**Lupin:** I didn't—  
**Tonks:** Do you think this is all a grand scheme, too?  
**Lupin:** I don't know what you're talking—  
**Tonks:** They're all trying to get us together!  
**Lupin:** What makes you think—  
**Tonks:** Oh, I know it! I just know it! It tickles in all the right places!

Oh, boy! She sounds really happy! GINNY WINS! (Although the tickling part is admittedly creepy.)

**Lupin:** Nymphadora, you're getting way—AAAAAAGGGHH!!!!  
**Tonks:** Sirius!!

What? Oh! It sounds like Sirius just burst through the bathroom door, and the Professor was apparently sitting against the wall near the door so that when the door flung open, it smashed his head into the wall. Kinda like the old slam-your-enemy's-head-in-the-refrigerator-door trick. That man is just out of luck today!

Wait.

What was that?

Did Sirius just say—

No.

He couldn't have.

Holy. Guaca. Mole.

Sirius just announced that I could come out now. He knows I'm in here. He knows I'm in here!

WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?

Fudge nuggets.

* * *

**A/N:** So there you have it. Sorry if you see proofreading errors. There's a roach scratching around in the fireplace and it's creeping me out, so I'm skidattling out of here before it gets out.

Anyway. As always, review! Don't forget the SUPER DUPER poem of encouragement I wrote just for you at the top of this page. And if you have some short verse of your own, gimme gimme!


	9. big picture

**A/N: **I can't believe the last time I updated this story, I was procrastinating studying for my BC Calc exam. Wow....

I hate to say, my friends, this marks the end  
of this short tale of lunacy I've penned.  
I know I warrant murderous attack  
Because my updating habits are so slack.  
But mind that writer's block makes writing dry,  
And be appeased with this, my humble try.  
I mean this from the bottom of my heart:  
Thanks for sticking with me from the start!

* * *

**Date**: 13 June  
**Time**: 10:49  
**Location**: the kitchen  
**Status**: fulfilled

Now look here, Sir,

Well, it's done. The truth has come out. The mission is accomplished.

And can you believe it, sir? That mangy old mutt Sirius was the mastermind of the whole thing! After he called me out from under the sink (to my horrified embarrassment), he dragged me and Tonks and the flabbergasted Professor down to the kitchen to lay the whole story on the table.

That fateful first night when I happened to roost in the rafters, he had persuaded Tonks to bring up the tea. He had planned the fistfight in order to stir the Professor out of his denial (and to great effect). Once I so felicitously fell into his scheming hands, he sent me to spy on the Professor in his room. And, of course, he threw the Professor headlong into the bathroom with me and Tonks, but that was just because he was feeling puckish.

And then, when he heard Tonks about to crack the case wide open, he threw in the towel, ended the game, and showed us how we'd all been putty in his paws.

Turns out, I was peripheral to the whole thing. Sirius let me think I was integral to the scheme, but it looks like I was nothing but the unofficial reporter! Oh, and all those times he busted me or made me think I was about to get caught? He just liked messing with me.

The flea-bitten mongrel.

But anyway, the Professor is taking it all well. He's a little sheepish about being duped, but Tonks is getting a kick out of it.

Oh! Sirius is finally revealing the importance behind the Tina Turner business. Remember how mysteriously spastic I said he was when I reported that the Professor had been secretly singing "What's Love Got to Do with It?" Apparently, a few days before the roosting fiasco, while the Professor was still in his denial stage, he had told Sirius that he would sing to his least favorite singer before he asked Tonks on a date. That's right: me and the Professor are two of the only three people in the world who abhor the woman's music. We're practically soul mates.

Yes! Sirius is saying that to be true to his word the Professor must now ask Tonks on a date.

And a nice summer Sunday stroll to the lake it is! How squeefully delightful!

Well, sir, they're together at last. They really are. That is freaking awesome. And I was there to witness it all.

Now that they're off on their walk and Sirius has gone upstairs to feed Buckbeak, I guess it's time for me to sign off at last. It's been an honor, sir. We've been through thick and thin, high and low, in and out, and everywhere in between. I'm almost getting choked up think about it.

Almost. ;)

Adieu, good Sir!

Ever your faithful correspondent,

Ginny..............

Because I may one day have to pick you up again. After all, Tonks may have snagged the Professor, but there's still another freakishly noble, perfectly snaggable male in this house, and he's got my name written all over him!

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

As the two lovebirds tripped out into the sunshine, Molly Weasley retreated to her bedroom and sat back on the bed for a nice long cackle of triumph. Eavesdropping at the kitchen door, she had heard enough to confirm that her plan had worked at last. Looking back, it hadn't been difficult at all. A few words to Tonks, a few words to Remus, and quite a few edible bribes to Sirius—and _presto_! A match made in heaven. And Ginny … well, that was just fun. Not even necessary. If the girl had any idea how transparent she was to her mother, she might not have been so easy to manipulate. A comment here, a look there, a bit of bacon, and some good old housecleaning; these are the ingredients of an unsuspecting pawn.

**

* * *

**

**EPILOGUE II**

That night, Albus Dumbledore activated his eye-twinklers to full force and trained them on the pink-haired auror and lanky ex-professor who were too busy staring at each other to pay him the slightest bit of attention as he addressed the order members at the weekly meeting. It had been almost too easy, in retrospect. All it had taken was a casual remark to Molly; a few well-chosen words and the matriarch would contrive to force the two of them together in no time, completely unawares as to who put the idea in her head in the first place. Everything had happened just as he planned it.

**

* * *

**

**EPILOGUE III**

Somewhere across the pond, an obscure and shockingly lazy fanfiction writer sat back from her borderline mediocre, hastily ended, overly adjectived story and sighed with giddy satisfaction: Once again, Lupin and Tonks had ended up together, were very much alive, and were certain to have a long, happy marriage and a billion kids in their future. She foolishly congratulated herself for thinking up a clever ending that both tied up long-forgotten plot twists and mercifully ended The Worst-Planned Story In History. She hoped her readers wouldn't mind too terribly.

**

* * *

**

**EPILOGUE IV**

And the Lord did grin. How they would _laugh_ if they could see it all!

* * *

**A/N:** Well, y'all, that's really it. I think some apologies are in order, but its 4:31 am and I have class in less than 3.5 hours, so I'll keep it short: SORRY FOR FAILING AT UPDATING AND FOR BEING A LAZY BUM! I think that'll do.

And here are your lovely poems! (I do hope I didn't miss any!!)

Your story is extremely excellent, though I fear,  
If you don't update soon, I may dissapear.  
Not into thin air, but into a deep depression,  
because each chapter of the story just keeps me guessing.  
_**Raingypsy**_

Hey, i'm Volante296  
I love reading fan fics  
I can't really rhyme  
at this present time  
But I guess I can give it a go  
I read your story and was like 'woah!'  
It's really awesome and fun  
But a complaint, I have one...  
Stop leaving it on a cliffy!!  
_**Volante296**_

Though I know now, it's quite old  
I just discovered your story  
and I find it good as gold!  
_**lupinluvrr12343**_

I fear I may be too late  
for another update  
But please finish your fic  
with more fun and more tricks  
my poem kinda sucks  
but at least I reviewed  
I've run out of luck  
as my rhymes become crude.  
_**Boomfly**_

Again, thanks for the reviews, y'all. Each one is like warm fuzzy raised to the ten. :D


End file.
